centre of the universe - the dreaming

So.
Today, at 6:21 am, this kid turns ten.
TEN.
Ten.

When he was born, he looked like a grapefruit stuck to an orange by a few popsicle sticks. A friction mount, if you will. His eyes were purple and swollen shut, and he was not so good with the breathing.

Today, he looks like he's built out of bricks (and feels like it), he's starting to smell faintly of goats (particularly after hockey), and he has NO PROBLEM breathing. Especially when he's shouty.

Ten years ago, he slept in my laundry basket at the foot of my bed (technically, ten years ago, he slept in an isolette the size of a bread bin, but I'm waxing poetic here. Or something). Today, he can't fit in that laundry basket unless I smoosh him in and use some lard to help. Not that I've tried it, but...you know...hypothetically.

He is smart, funny, and caring. He smiles easily, laughs often, and gets a twinkle in his eye when you talk about farts. Or nards. His favourite books are about Samurai and adventures, but he also appreciates Calvin and Hobbes on many levels. He plays roleplaying games and he creates his own roleplaying games. Watching him skate makes me wish I could do things better.

He's grown in to a pretty amazing boy. He always was.

Happy Birthday, The Captain!

Labels: Happy Birthday, kids

Eleventy Billion Years Ago, when the earth was still young and the rivers ran pure across the land, the people wished to live in peace, and harmony. But they were scared of everything, and realised that they had Much To Do before they could be happy. In fact, along with hunting, and gathering, and tilling the soil, they had all this other stuff that needed to be done, like fishing, and running the settlements, and coming up with creation myths.

The people began to plan things, and plot against one another, because they didn't have time for fun, what with the making spears and tanning hides and hitting each other in the head with rocks.

But then unto those people was born a beautiful, vibrant baby girl. Also, a strange Raggedy Ann doll that introduced fear and paranoia into the world. The amazing baby girl did her best to punch Raggedy Ann in the face at every opportunity. In the creepiest of creepy things, no matter how often or how hard she was punched, Raggedy Ann never stopped smiling. It was as if Raggedy Ann knew something she wasn't sharing with the rest of us. Creepy little thing.

Anyway, while the world is still overrun with Raggedy Ann dolls and face-eating clowns, the incredible, wickedly intelligent baby girl grew up to be the Most Important Person Ever. Named cenobyte, she would eventually be the intermediary between the centre of the universe and...well...everyone and everything in the universe.

And this is the day we all celebrate the arrival of the cenobyte.

Labels: Happy Birthday

Today is my Da's birthday. We called him this morning. He wasn't out of bed yet. THAT, is some kind of divine retribution.

My father taught high school for years. He has a lot of patience with students; he can explain the same thing four different ways (or the same way four different times so that evnetually it sticks). However, Da used to take me 'fwimmin' (as Stitchface would say) every Wednesday afternoon. Then, after I started 'fwimmin' lessons, we went two or three times a week.

I'm not sure if you know this about me, but I am a girl. Therefore, I often use the girls' changeroom at the pool.

When I first started going to the pool with my Da, I was just only wee, and it was Not a Problem that I hung out in the men's changeroom (the STAFF changeroom, nonetheless). But, you know, by the time you turn twelve and start ...well... developing in strange and wonderful ways, Some People start getting hangups about being nekkid around members of the opposite gender. I sincerely hope my children do not get these same hangups.

ANYWAY, eventually, I had to start using the girls' changeroom. I was terrified and profoundly sad. I believe I was nine years old. I had always rather liked having a post-swim shower in the staff change room; they had a white shower with holes in the floor (not a floor drain; holes in the floor) and little blue tiles. Da let me 'shampoo' my hair with soap he'd stolen acquired from hotels. Then, afterwards, we'd hang our bathing suits in Da's locker, and I'd toss my water wings up on to the top shelf (i believed him when he told me they were broken. i believed him until I was in my mid-twenties), and we'd walk out together, out through the long, darkened, echoing hallway, out into the parking lot. My hair would freeze and I would chew on the frozen ends while we waited for the car to warm up.

It was a time for just Da and me. No one else could be part of that. It was a sacred ritual.

But then, he told me one day to go change in the girls' change room. I was confused. Scared. It was so much *bigger* than the staff change room. Bigger brighter...full of people I didn't know. Nameless, anonymous people who didn't know me and didn't know where I belonged, should i get lost. Da sent in one of the lifeguards - Judy was her name. She came in and showed me how to use my own locker, and how to find the pool from the maze of tile and steel doors and echoing shrieks and the roar of air dryers.

After that, it became an adventure.

But - here's the thing. If I didn't get changed after my fwimming lesson in less than twelve seconds (including underpants!), Da would walk into the womens' change room and holler my name. There was shrieking, shouting, gasping, and finally, a heavy, heavy silence. It didn't take long for all those nameless, anonymous people to understand where I belonged.

Sometimes, I still listen for his voice when I'm getting changed after swimming. I never thought I would miss those terribly embarassing moments. Actually, knowing my Da, I probably won't have to miss them for long.

Happy Birthday, Da.

Labels: Da, Happy Birthday

The Nipper was born with a look of extreme confusion on his face. This is how I knew, without a shadow of doubt, where the other half of his genetic material had come from. I mean, I knew it *anyway*, but the moment I saw his little face, all scrimpled up, and imagined him hollering "CHANGE!!" in a Very Alarmed Voice, I looked at His Nibs and said, "well. He's certainly YOUR son."

He was born without any assistance at all, the doctor busying herself with things like doing something else as The Nipper squipped out onto the bed. When the nurse handed him up to me (as I was reaching down to get him, for the record), she looked at me and said, "well? What do you think of your baby boy?"

And I said, "He isn't black."

And the nurse said, "...?..."

And I said to His Nibs, "I told you I wanted a black baby."

And the nurse said, "..."

And I said to the nurse, "I suppose you'll have to put this one back."

And our Doula had to have a sit-down with the giggles.

Happy Birthday, The Nipper. You're perfect the way you are, buck teeth and backwards pants and all. I love you, pook.

Labels: Happy Birthday, Pook